O, My teacher,be it my grandma, mother, fatheror brethen,
The Church Sermon, or the Rabbi's congregation,The call to prayer announced loud,or per chance, the silent whisperingunto the lips that read out the Heart's fervent desire,I urge all of thee,
Let not fail in your duty,Do not instill the wrong, the deviant,the zealous, and the bigoted facts from the past,dead history, in your student's mind,When you can do much better, with the Ganges, and Indus
running wild, a joyous ode, to the spring of mountain stream,at its very origin, the melting of Ice,The Ice that was once the Guru's frozen mind,finding youth, in the mountain stream pure delight!